


anchor at sea

by Pawprinter



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Forehead Touching, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, They're In Love Your Honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: Accepting that he is a ghost and accepting that he is dead are two very different things, as Alex finds out. When he makes a horrifying discovery that changes his life(or, rather, death), Willie is the one to help him through it.or: Alex finds his own grave and begins to grieve.
Relationships: Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 335
Collections: JATP Appreciation Week





	anchor at sea

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** this fic deals with some fairly heavy topics such as grief, mourning, processing some heavy emotions, and character death (the character death being what we already know in canon - which is Alex, Luke, Reggie, and Willie - but, still). There's not a whole lot of fluff here; it's mainly just angst and emotional hurt/comfort. If you're unsure about any of these themes/topics, leave me a comment, and I'll respond to discuss any concerns!
> 
> Also, the teen rating is for coarse language. 
> 
> This fic is written for Julie and the Phantoms Appreciation Week [on Tumblr](https://jatp-week.tumblr.com)! This is for day 3, which gives the prompt of writing a fic focused on a favourite ship. Of course, I had to pick Willex. (I'm only a few days late - oops.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Alex found him at the pier.

Willie looked like he had walked right out of the museums he loved to skate in; he was so beautiful that Alex could’ve swore he belonged in portraits hanging in the Louvre. 

For a long moment, Alex just stood and watched him. He weaved in and out between lifers, his expression one of pure joy and bliss. The wind was in his hair, and the sun was positioned _perfectly_ behind him, and—

Willie was beautiful, and free, and _safe._

He was exactly what Alex needed right then — right when it felt like he was seconds away from turning to dust on the wind — right when he felt as though the world was closing in around him.

Willie saw him when he was still standing on the side of the boardwalk, face slack and hands shaking. At first, he smiled so wide that it made _Alex’s_ cheeks hurt — it was a smile he’d grown so used to at this point, a smile that he loved with his whole heart. He must’ve realized just how shaken he looked because, as quickly as the smile appeared, it faded.

He was at his side in seconds, skateboard under his arm and helmet already sliding off his head.

“Alex,” he breathed his name so gently. “Hey, are you okay?”

Alex didn’t know how to answer that — he didn’t know if he _could_ answer that — so he didn’t.

Instead, he flung himself at Willie, his heart in his throat and his eyes burning and his knees shaking and—

“Woah.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex croaked and _oh god, he was crying._ “I didn’t know who else to go to and I—”

Willie returned the embrace with a ferocity that managed to push a few pieces of Alex’s soul back together. The skateboard and helmet were long forgotten at their feet, and the other boy used his newly freed hands to _grip_ onto Alex’s back — his hands dug into his sides and is fingers curled around the cloth of his pink hoodie and—

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice muffled by Alex’s shoulder. “I got you. I’ve always got you.”

Alex’s nose pressed against Willie’s shoulder and his eyes slid closed. He could barely keep himself upright — could barely keep himself from falling to pieces — but this was nice. Being held. Holding someone. Breathing with someone.

_Breathing._

It was easier to breathe now that he was here, in Willie’s arms. The tightness in his chest was still there — _of course it was —_ but each breath was easier with someone there with him. Just knowing that he wasn’t alone was enough to loosen the cold hands of dread wrapped around his heart.

He took him in like a drowning man.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Willie asked each question slowly, yet Alex still couldn’t form the proper words.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

Willie’s chin dug into his shoulder and he blew out a quick breath of laughter. “You’re not okay, Alex. I know you.”

It was true — they both knew each other too well to believe those lies.

A pause, then, “No. I’m not.”

“You’re not hurt though, are you?” 

He shook his head and pulled out of the hug, needing to _see him._ Still, as they parted, he didn’t dare remove his hand from his elbow — didn’t dare take a step back — didn’t dare look away. Willie’s eyes were filled with concern. His touches were gentle and soothed pieces of Alex’s soul he didn’t even know where in turmoil. 

As if Willie didn’t quite believe him, his gaze swept down his body, looking for anything out of place or anything that would cause him to feel like _this._

 _God,_ he was a mess. 

He probably _looked_ like a mess. He sure as hell felt like one. 

It felt like his whole body had turned to ice; it had started slowly in his chest, but he could feel it now in his fingertips and— _right._ He remembered this feeling, the feeling of _drowning_ when not being near water — the feeling of heartbreak echoing through his veins — the feeling of tidal waves of _grief,_ and _hollowness,_ and _dread_ crashing upon him as if he was a simple beach during summer storms.

He was drowning in an ocean, and Willie was a breath of fresh air.

“Okay, good,” he said, his voice still holding even. 

They locked eyes and Alex wished they’d never break this gaze again. He studied the kaleidoscope of colours housed in his eyes; all the browns, honeys, and golds that were seemingly brought to life with the sun. He studied the way his forehead creased with worry, and the way his lips pressed together, and the way his cheeks were tinted the slightest bit red from the scorching sun.

_He looked like he was filled with life._

It was a ridiculous sentiment to find comfort in, especially with the dozens of lifers passing right by without ever seeing them, but he _needed_ it.

 _He needed to grasp onto something —_ something beyond Willie’s arms, something beyond _this._

He needed to believe that this was real, that they were real, that they _weren’t just gone._

(Even if they were.)

(Even if they were dead.)

“Tell me something good,” Alex pleaded, his voice still shaking. “Anything. Just _something.”_

“I saw a bird today.”

He blew out a shaking breath and nodded. Willie inched closer, his grip on his elbow holding steady. He didn’t dare ask questions, didn’t even try to figure out why Alex needed it.

He just gave it to him.

_He gave it to him without hesitation._

“It was a seagull,” he continued. “And this one was hungry so — even better, you know? It circled around the end of the pier for the longest time, waiting, and it dove. This lifer was so scared that they _screamed_ when the little critter scooped a beak full of fries out of their hands and took off. It was _priceless.”_ It was hard not to smile at Willie’s genuine happiness at telling the story; the way his eyes lit up, the way his cheeks dimpled.

Word by word, he soothed what Alex thought was an unbeatable storm in his chest.

“Oh, you know what else happened today? I learned a new trick on my board. It’s _great —_ something I never thought to try when I was alive because, you know, I was afraid of dying but look at me now. Being dead has its perks after all.”

 _That_ was the thing to break Alex.

They locked eyes again. High chest tightened. His stomach dropped.

“We’re here, right?” he asked. “We’re… this is real? We’re real?”

“I mean…” Willie’s fingers brushed against Alex’s elbow. The corners of his lips quirked up. “Yeah. Yeah, _we’re real.”_

“Not like that,” he corrected. “Not us, like our relationship. I mean... _us_ us.” 

Alex’s eyes slid shut and he swallowed thickly. It was impossible to get the words out. He couldn’t even _begin_ to describe what he felt like in that moment — like he was simply _floating,_ like he was _numb,_ and it he wasn’t numb then he was _choking,_ and— 

“I want to help,” Willie said. “I want to help you, Alex — whatever you’re going through, I want to _help.”_

“Can I show you something?”

The question was out of his mouth before he could think better.

Willie answered without a beat of hesitation. “Of course. Always, Alex.” Without even _knowing_ what was coming next, he gave him a reassured look. “We’re okay. Alright? You’re okay. Whatever it is. It’s okay. It will _be_ okay.”

Alex believed him.

That was the thing about Willie — he made everything sound believable, even the things that Alex had already decided were impossible.

(Like finding their unfinished business.)

(Like crossing over.)

(Like this.)

Without another word, Alex closed his eyes and envisioned the soft ground and open skies of the place he had come from only moments before. He kept ahold of Willie and poofed them both away.

* * *

Alex had known it was a bad idea.

All forms of logic pointed to it being a bad idea. _Worse, actually._ It was a horrible idea. It was arguably the worst idea he had in his entire (short) life.

And yet, he went through with it.

It would’ve been easy to not do it. Instead of coming here the first time, he could’ve been lounging on the couch in the garage with Luke and Reggie, or walking along the beach with Willie, or watching a movie with Julie, but—

No.

And now he was back — _again —_ despite vowing to himself that he’d never return only moments ago.

He was here.

In a graveyard.

With a weight in his stomach, dread in his heart, and a chill in his veins.

And he had many regrets.

The day, for all intents and purposes, was beautiful. The clouds in the sky didn’t look real, they were that beautiful, and the sun disappearing behind the horizon caused the sky to glow orange. The cemetery was beautiful, too, with neatly kept grass, and groomed trees, and a _clearly_ well-loved path right down the centre of it.

It was beautiful.

Except, that almost made it worse.

Never before in his experience with the afterlife did he feel like he didn’t belong. How could he when he always had Luke and Reggie backing him, and Willie welcoming him with open arms, and Julie being the _exact_ piece that filled the void in their lives (and deaths)?

He belonged. He belonged even though he was dead and he wasn’t _supposed to,_ but—

This.

_This._

He didn’t belong here.

There was something so distinctly wrong about standing over his own grave, knowing that _he_ was six feet below the surface, knowing that _this tombstone_ was supposed to be the last thing he put into the world, knowing that—

_He was dead._

He was really, truly, definitively dead.

Alex didn’t know ghosts could feel like this. It felt like he was dying all over again, except _not._ It wasn’t painful in the way that Caleb’s jolts were, but it still managed to make his chest grow tight, and his heart turn to ice, and his breath fade into nothingness. It felt like — piece by piece — he was breaking off into the wind.

He swallowed thickly and blew out a long breath, trying to ground himself.

Before this moment, he knew he was dead — _of course he knew_ — but it hadn’t hit him how final, and horrible, and _real_ that was until he was looking at his tombstone.

_A L E X_

His eyes couldn’t move past the first word. He couldn’t begin to process why his tombstone didn’t have an inscription engraved, unlike so many others lining this same row. He couldn’t begin to process the date on this slab of rock. 

He couldn’t process _any_ of it.

Just the fact that _this was his name._

And it was on a gravestone.

And he was in a cemetery.

_And he was dead._

The sight of his grave made him feel sick. The wrongness of it all made him feel like the world was closing in around him, despite being in the middle of an open field. If he wasn’t already standing above his body, he would’ve thought he was then — he couldn’t feel his arms, couldn’t move his mouth, couldn’t think past the heaviness in his heart and the cold hands of dread grasping his ribs. He couldn’t _breathe,_ couldn’t _think,_ couldn’t _understand—_

Willie stepped closer to the grave and— _shit,_ he almost forgot he was here. He still hadn’t let go of his arm since the pier and, even now as he was moving away, he still kept a hold on him.

Despite being above the one thing that he couldn’t pull his thoughts from, he couldn’t pull his eyes off of Willie. 

Alex held his breath and watched as his expression changed minutely — from the widening eyes, to the parted lips, to the dropped jaw. Then, as quickly as he came apart, he pulled himself back together and turned to him.

“Oh.”

Alex didn’t have to explain what he was thinking in that moment because _Willie knew._

Willie knew because they were tethered together in a way that Alex hadn’t experienced before; it was as though he knew him as well as he knew Luke and Reggie — two people he’d spent _years_ with. 

Willie knew because he’d been here before. Maybe not in this _exact_ same position, standing over his own grave, but he’d been _here._

He’d experienced death hitting him like a car.

Or a hot dog.

“Come here,” Willie said.

Alex wanted nothing more than exactly that. 

They met in the middle for an embrace, one that reminded Alex of the first time they hugged. _God,_ so much had changed since then. Yet, here they were, once again clinging to each other with everything they had in them.

That first hug was one driven by fear and worry. They held each other in the middle of the street because they were afraid it was going to be the last time they saw each other. The only thing they could do was _hug each other_ because they couldn’t stop what came next — Caleb, or crossing over, or _something worse._

Now, they held each other in the middle of the cemetery because it was the only thing they could do once again. 

They clung each other to keep from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” Willie said, his voice breaking. That alone would’ve caused Alex to sob — just hearing his voice catch was enough to make the ground rip out from under him. “I’m sorry. I get it though. I get it, and I _got_ you.”

Alex could only nod against his shoulder — a shoulder that was now wet with tears. 

He hated this.

He hated feeling like the world was crashing down around him.

He hated that he pulled Willie into this.

Alex pulled away, his hands shaking and his stomach twisting, and tried to make it all better. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have shown you this.”

“I asked you to,” he reminded him. “I wasn’t just going to let you go on like I couldn’t tell you were hurting. Never, Alex. _Never.”_

Still trying to push it all away, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come to you then. I shouldn’t have _bothered_ you. I— I have the guys, and Julie, and—”

Willie brought their foreheads together. His mind zeroed in on the feeling of his breath across his face, and the tenderness of his touches, and the warmth of his skin.

“I love you,” Willie told him. It wasn’t the first time he spoke these words, nor was it the last. They’d admitted their feelings and the love they had for each other _months_ ago — both in spoken word and action. Yet, every time, those words made Alex’s heart skip a beat. “I love you, and I _want_ to help you, ‘Lex. _Always._ I want to share these burdens with you because I _care_ about you and I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to hurt alone.”

Alex sucked in several long breaths and nodded. He understood what Willie was saying because it was exactly how he felt about him. It was an echo of the words he told him all those months ago, when Willie was still under Caleb’s control and was hurting for everything he did to help them. Alex had begged him not to pull away. He begged him to _stay_ because he wanted to _help._ He wanted to share his pain as much as he wanted to share his happiness.

When they broke from the embrace, Alex’s gaze was drawn to the tombstone only meters from them. He couldn’t begin to process that the date on this slab of rock — _this tiny date —_ covered his whole life on this planet. 

Seventeen tiny years. 

That was hardly any time at all.

This was all he was supposed to leave in the world. Just a tiny rock above a tiny patch of grass in a place that was close to being abandoned. The only imprint his seventeen-year-old self should have made on the world was this; his name, his birthdate, his death date. 

He was forgettable, really.

“Hey,” Willie said, his voice soft enough not to startle him. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

All he could do was nod because _what else was he supposed to say?_ ‘No, I want to stare at my grave a bit longer.’ ‘No, I want to stay here until I belong because _aren’t ghosts supposed to belong in cemeteries?’_ ‘No, I want to watch and see if anyone comes, or if nobody ever does and I’m truly alone out here?’

Willie took hold of his hand and poofed them away.

* * *

The air wafting on his face was cool. 

When his _feet_ also grew cold and _wet,_ his breath caught in his chest and his eyes snapped open.

They stood underneath a pier, where they were hidden from the sun and away from the hustle of the people above. The air was cool — almost too cool for a summer day — and the water lapped up to their ankles, soaking their shoes.

“Shoot,” Willie hissed, lifting up his foot and frowning. “I definitely forgot about high tide. I’m sorry. Here, grab my hand and I’ll pook us back up the beach to—”

“No,” Alex said quickly. “No, this is… It’s great.”

_He had always been good at running._

It was nice to know that this skill followed him into the afterlife.

He ran from the feelings of drowning, moving full speed into the ocean. His feet crashed into the waves, splashing water up the front of his pants and towards Willie. His shoes weighed him down — each step he took felt like he was moving through syrup — but _it was exactly what he needed._

He needed to be weighed down.

Needed to feel gravity.

Needed to feel grounded.

_Needed to feel real._

He was still too torn up to laugh or feel anything other than _numbness,_ but he felt the water felt nice as he waded through it. He didn’t get very far before he turned and fell backwards into the ocean.

The salt water stung his nose as it washed up around him. It shocked the breath from his lungs, tugged his mind from its loop, soaked him to the bone.

He surfaced, still floating on his back and sputtering. His eyes locked on the wooden planks of wood far above him and he _laughed._

“Oh my god,” he said. “I’m dead.”

A heaviness settled across him.

 _“I’m dead._ Like… _really_ dead.”

Silence stretched between them, but Alex didn’t have the energy to look at Willie. He was _scared,_ even though he knew he shouldn’t have been — scared that he was going to be looking at him with pity, scared that he was going to not understand where he was coming from, scared that he’d look at him differently.

He was scared.

It must’ve only been a few seconds but, to Alex, it felt like _eons._ His heart pounded in his chest as he waited nervously for a response.

He heard him, but it wasn’t Willie’s voice. He heard him moving through the water, inching closer, and then—

He was plunged back underwater when Willie hit the surface beside him. A wave washed over his face. His ears rang as water crashed on the sides of his head. His mouth tasted of salt.

Alex blinked the water from his eyes when he resurfaced, and turned his head ever so slightly to the side. Willie was there, inches away from him, floating on his back. He mirrored Alex, turning his head to look at him.

Their eyes locked.

Time passed.

Alex couldn’t be sure exactly how much time went by — ghosts, apparently, weren’t very good at keeping track of time. He blamed it on the fact that they had forever so, really, what was time to them?

Willie’s fingers were warm when they laced with his — a stark contrast to the cool water surrounding them. His thumb brushed the back of his hand soothingly and—

“You’re dead,” Willie told him. It wasn’t news — it hadn’t been news for a long time now — and yet… he felt like crying. Why did he feel like crying? “You died, Alex.”

“I know.”

And he did, but… _god,_ it was hitting him hard now.

Alex couldn’t look away from him. The water that ran down his face wasn’t water at all — it was tears; hot on his skin and guided by the tracks left by the ocean.

Willie’s eyes were red-rimmed too. They had cried together more times than Alex could count — like when they reunited after the Orpheum, or that time that Willie got jolted really bad by Caleb and they thought _this was it,_ or the time that they saw the lost dog get reunited with its owner, or that time they made the mistake of watching the _Titanic_ one night.

But this.

This was different.

“It’s okay though,” he promised him. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

And, just like before, he knew this too.

He knew he was okay. He’d been okay for a long time now — as long as he had the people he loved around him, he knew he’d be okay. He’d get through this.

But…

“Just… _seeing it._ My grave. Knowing that I’m — me, my body — is under there… Thinking about _how much I wanted to do_ and how much I’ll never get to do. Thinking about how much I _missed…”_ He sucked in a shaking breath. “But I’m okay. Right? I’m okay?”

“It’s okay not to be okay, Alex. _You will be though._ But right now — it’s okay to not feel okay.”

It was as if he was waiting for those words — waiting for permission to _feel._

It all crashed into him like an ocean.

“I’m dead.”

Willie nodded. “I’m dead too.” 

They were dead.

_Wow._

Willie sat up and Alex followed suit automatically. Water streamed down the sides of the faces. Willie’s hair was flat against his head and so much darker than Alex had ever seen it before. Alex knew he must’ve looked the same with his hair glued against his forehead.

Willie bridged the space between them by grasping his hand. Their knees brushed together under the waves. The sand was coase against his free fingers.

“I know what you’re feeling right now and it sucks,” Willie said. “Knowing and _knowing_ are two very different things.”

Alex nodded. “I knew I was dead, but _seeing it…”_

He didn’t have to finish his thoughts because he knew Willie understood.

He knew the guys would’ve probably understood too, but… what if they were like him? Still in the dark? He thought he understood his death, but it wasn’t until that moment — standing on his grave — that it all truly hit him. 

He didn’t want to be the thing that pushed them to discover this reality.

But he knew Willie understood. 

Willie, the guy who had been a ghost for years. 

Willie, the guy who taught him how to be a ghost. 

Willie, the ghost he loved and trusted.

It was why he came to him — because he knew Willie would understand.

Alex spoke, his throat scratchy and his words unsure. “How did you…?”

“I found my parents’ graves.” Willie glanced towards the sky and let out a wet laugh. “I don’t know why I’m _laughing,_ because it was _horrible,_ but—”

“It’s okay,” Alex promised him. “Grief sucks and is weird.”

“Yeah. It is.” They locked eyes again. “I was stuck in that dark room for thirty years. When I came back, I laid low for a long time. I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t know what to do. I think it was a month after I came back that I decided to go back home. Except, my home wasn’t _home_ anymore. I tried to track my parents down. I did, in the end, but it was at a cemetery.” Willie rubbed his face, leaving behind a trail of water on his skin. “Seeing the graves… It hits differently. It makes everything come to a focus and it _sucks.”_

There was a lull.

“We’re dead.”

“We’re dead.”

They lapsed into a silence, this one not as thick as the one before. The rhythm that arose from the waves rocked a calmness into Alex’s bones. Water crashed into the shore and against the wooden beams of the pier. Distantly, people walked the pier above them and seagulls called out.

There was so much going on in the world — so much going on in this tiny little moment — but all Alex could think about was them.

It was just him and Willie.

It was just him and Willie and they were _real_ and _alive—_

—even if they were dead.

“Being a ghost _is hard,”_ Alex said.

“Ghosts have their downsides,” he agreed, “and I’m not just talking about Caleb.”

He was almost too scared to ask his next question, but not knowing was worse.

“What else?” he pressed. “What are the other downsides?”

Willie stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t… Do you want to know? Really? I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m a ghost. I’m already scared.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, Alex made a bad joke. “I mean, technically, I should be _doing_ the scaring because… you know… ghosts are spooky. Ha ha, get it?”

The corner of Willie’s lips quirked up. “Come on, funny guy. I don’t think you’ll ever be scary with jokes like that.”

“I got you to laugh.”

“I always laugh at you.”

“See? I’m _funny.”_

“Sure, hot dog. You’re hilarious.” An easiness settled over them and Alex couldn’t help but feel proud by that fact. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.”

Willie nodded and drew his knees up to his chest. Alex couldn’t recall a time where he looked so _unsure,_ other than when he was being manipulated by Caleb and Alex was dying, but that was extenuating circumstances.

“When you’re a ghost, you never move on.” Willie shrugged. “I guess that’s the worst part about it. We’re _stuck._ We don’t age. We don’t interact with the world. We don’t have a path. We’re just _here_ and, sure, we have a chance to figure out our unfinished business and cross over, but it’s rare. It’s the not knowing and not having a direction or an end goal that's haunting.”

Alex nodded, his throat feeling tight. At first, during those early days of coming back as a ghost, he had experienced a flicker of that. They didn’t know where to go, they didn’t know what they were doing, and without Julie, they didn’t have anything _to do._

It was a different type of afterlife than the one he was experiencing now, and he couldn’t imagine living (or not-living) that way for any longer than he had already.

He took Willie’s hand, knowing that _he_ must’ve lived like that for a long time; before Caleb, before the club, before _him._

“Ghosts are sentimental by nature. That’s one thing that the movies got right. We’re tied to this world because of unfinished business, so we naturally hang onto things. We don’t change and that means we lose things that lifers never _think_ of losing. Time keeps ticking around us. We have to watch the world change from the place we grew up in into something almost unrecognizable. Even the world that I came back to is different than the world we live in now. The world moves on without us, whether or not we’re ready to leave it — and our old lives — behind.”

Alex swallowed thickly. He’d noticed this already whenever Julie would use a word he didn’t get or when she talked about something called memes, but it never really hit him that _it would never change._ He’d always be scrambling to figure out the future because—

It was the future.

To him, at least, it would _always_ be the future.

Willie retook Alex’s hand and stared at him with determination. “But it’s not all bad. There’s a lot of downs to being a ghost, but there’s a lot of ups too. We get to do what we love for as long as we want. We have the time to do all the things we never got to do before we died. We can do whatever we want.” A softness settled on Willie’s features. “And _this._ We get to do this forever.”

Listening to Willie talk was loosening his chest. The weight was still there — he would’ve been worried if this grief and this hurt went away so easily — but it was easier to breathe with Willie at his side. It was easier to breathe knowing that he wasn’t alone and he’d _never_ be alone — not with this, not with anything.

“What you feel now?” Willie continued, as if he could read his mind. “It gets better. Grieving as a ghost is a lot like grieving as a lifer, even if you’re mourning yourself and your past. Every day, it gets a little easier. And all that other stuff that comes with being a ghost? Struggling to move on, feeling like you’re lost? No matter what happens, we’re going to have each other, and _we’ll get through it._ Life — and death — is easier when you’re with people who care about you, and I care about you _so much,_ Alex.”

Alex let out a wet laugh and— _when did he start crying again?_ He couldn’t bring himself to care, not when it simultaneously felt like his chest was caving in from grief and his heart was racing from the astonishing amount of love he had for the ghost in front of him.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, hot dog.” He nudged his knee with his own. “Thank you for coming to me. I want to help. And even if I can’t, I want to be there with you. I will happily sit in the ocean with you and just _be_ with you.”

God, Alex loved him so much. 

It might’ve felt like he was drowning now, but he knew things would get better. It was like Willie said — day by day, it would get easier to breathe. He’d get through death like he got through life; with people he loved all around him.

Willie. Luke. Reggie. Julie.

It was safe to say he was in pretty good hands.

They continued to sit together in the shallows of the ocean, hair plastered to the sides of their faces and their clothing soaked, and they were crying and _dead,_ but—

Alex felt like he belonged, and he felt like he was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lai for pre-reading this fic! I appreciate all your encouragements in the DMs and also your notes and suggestions. You're a queen.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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